


The Fire Still Burns

by Delphi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aftermath, Bathing/Washing, Comrades in Arms, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:05:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piandao finds himself restless after the final battle and invites Jeong Jeong to join him for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire Still Burns

The camp between the inner and outer walls of Ba Sing Se was a small crescent of darkness and quiet amidst all the revelry on the night the war came to an end. Fireworks bloomed in the sky overhead, and the sound of cheers and singing washed over from the city, but only a few campfires and lanterns dotted the White Lotus garrison. Many of the order's number were on guard or lending assistance to the citizens, while others were already journeying on to Royal Caldera City, and others still had left for their own nations and homes, their duties done.

Piandao sat outside his tent, seeing to his sword. A file, a whetstone, a small pile of rags, and a jar of oil were arranged around him, and a kettle of water hung over the fire. In the corner of his eye, he could see Jeong Jeong pacing a rocky ledge above, trying and evidently failing to meditate. As he watched, Jeong Jeong sat down on the ledge once more beside a single tallow candle, breathing deeply in and out for several minutes before restlessness claimed him and he again rose to his feet.

The feeling was contagious. Piandao might not have been a firebender, but the awesome otherworldliness of the comet had not left him unaffected. The echo of its passing still jangled his skeleton, making him want to move, making him want to fight—or fuck. Even the soothing ceremony of cleaning and sharpening his sword was no balm to his spirit tonight, but he carried it out nonetheless until the weapon was gleaming, and then he prepared two cups of jasmine and let them steep.

"I have tea," he called up to where Jeong Jeong was sitting. "Why don't you come down?"

It was too dark to make out the man's expression clearly, but after a moment, the candle was snuffed out and he heard Jeong Jeong leap down from the rocks, softly stirring the earth as he landed. The man approached, at first no more than a glimmer of white robes and silver hair. Then the firelight caught his pale eyes and the jagged lines of the scar that ran down his face, and he came into full view, fierce and frowning.

Piandao put his sword aside and offered a cup. Jeong Jeong's warm fingers brushed his as he took it.

They sat, neither of them insulting the gravity of the day with small talk. It was not the first time they had shared tea, but it was the first time they had done so alone. They had met a handful of times before, over the pai sho table, and once only a few years past when Iroh had been in search of tutors for his wayward nephew. Piandao had granted the favour, but Jeong Jeong had declined, taking one look at the boy's marred face and privately declaring that experience had taught the young prince as much as he ever could. It was a pity, Piandao had thought then, that they would not get to know each other better.

It was not every day, however, that one helped end a century-long war. It called for celebration.

A firework burst above them, spitting streams of red fire, and Jeong Jeong looked up sharply, his hand clenching around his cup.

"Would you like to come inside?" Piandao asked, glancing back at his tent with a significant set to his eyebrows.

Jeong Jeong lifted a significant brow of his own, and for an instant Piandao thought he might have misinterpreted the glances that had passed between them—but he was rarely wrong, and a moment later he was satisfied to receive a very short but fervent: "Yes."

He led the way into the darkness of his tent and lit a lantern with flint and steel. His guest, to his approval, did not cheat and light it for him, but stood still and silent, shoulders tense and eyes wary.

Piandao lifted down a basin of water from the table. "Take off your robe." When Jeong Jeong hesitated, Piandao revealed the washcloth in his hand. "Let me. We're comrades, aren't we?"

It was years since he had considered himself a military man, but it was hard to shake the first half of one's life, and in this, he and Jeong Jeong spoke the same language. A private tent. Two men of rank. A few comforts of home brought to the field, and the wordless promise of discretion.

Jeong Jeong unbelted his sash and stripped to the waist, sinking down cross-legged. Piandao looked him over admiringly. The man was strong and compact—in need of a few more good meals, perhaps, but surprisingly well-muscled.

He set down the basin and poured in a dose of sweet oil. "You can warm it if you'd like."

"I prefer it cold," Jeong Jeong said, straightening his back and holding out his arms like the imperious admiral he must have once been.

It was only as he knelt behind him that Piandao fully felt the heat pouring off him. It was palpable, like holding a hand over dying coals. That sort of fever would likely kill a normal man, and he could see the faint tremors passing under Jeong Jeong's skin as his body tried to suppress the fire. His own hands thrummed in sympathy, aching for the grip of his sword as he gathered the man's unruly hair and bound it in one of his own ties.

"Army?" Jeong Jeong asked.

Piandao dipped the cloth and wrung it out. "For a time, yes. I was raised by the state, and I served the sixteen years I owed them." They had not let him go easily, but after the hundredth man he sent back to them, they had left him to his honourable retirement. "How did you guess?"

Jeong Jeong looked back at him, head tilting up as if to mark the distance between their heights, even sitting. "I could have bunked two midshipmen end to end on one of my ships in the space you take up."

He chuckled, drawing the cool cloth across Jeong Jeong's bare shoulders. The water hissed softly where it touched Jeong Jeong's skin, sending up steam that smelled like a sword in the forge: the metal-sharp scent of blood and the bitterness of ashes. There was an almost irresistible tang of salt beneath it, and were he a less civilized man, he would revel in the mess of dried sweat and first-degree burns and push Jeong Jeong down on the bare floor to put his mouth to both. If ever there had been a day for the powerful to be civil and restrained, however, he supposed it was today.

The cloth warmed quickly against Jeong Jeong's body, and Piandao frequently cooled it again in the water. He cleaned the smudge of ash from Jeong Jeong's cheek, pressing close against him, and then thoroughly bathed him from shoulder to fingertip and brow to waist. The pretence of propriety slipped away as Piandao lingered over the man's chest, feeling the firm planes of it through the thin cotton of the cloth and caressing a hardening nipple. His other hand followed, stroking damp, hot skin.

Jeong Jeong breathed out slowly. There was an unsteadiness to it, and Piandao wondered if it was all the smouldering heat of battle, or if it had been that long since someone had touched him. Now that would be a shame. He put his hand on Jeong Jeong's knee, squeezing, and then let his fingers climb a hard thigh.

His wrist was caught. He tried to pull away, but Jeong Jeong's grip was iron.

"If you don't want—" he began to say, but with one hard yank, Jeong Jeong turned and pulled him off-balance.

He fell forward, and Jeong Jeong's lips burned against his own as their mouths clashed. Seven souls, but the man could kiss. Teeth nipped at his lower lip, and then a hot tongue swept across to soothe it before slipping into his mouth to flicker against his own. Jeong Jeong's hand curled around the back of his neck, holding him fast, and all thoughts of civility dissipated as an arrow of heat shot through him. He crawled backwards to the bedroll, dragging Jeong Jeong with him by the waist of his pants.

They ended up in a tangle atop the blankets. The ghost of the battle echoed in his ears and whispered in his blood, making him shake as he pulled his clothes off. Jeong Jeong stripped off his pants and boots and then pushed against him with a quiet moan, rolling his brow against Piandao's bare shoulder as if he were lolling on the cool side of the pillow.

"You're burning up," Piandao murmured, almost surprised not to hear a sizzle when his lips brushed over Jeong Jeong's skin.

"I have it under control," Jeong Jeong said, his voice low and rough as his breath puffed hot against him.

"Good," he said, baring his teeth in a flash of a smile, "because I don't."

He pulled Jeong Jeong down on top of him and kissed him hard, an ungentle collision of starving mouths. His lip nearly split against his teeth as he strained up into it, hands exploring lean muscle and rough, scarred skin. He hardened with near-painful quickness as Jeong Jeong pressed a hand between them and bit down hard at Piandao's throat, making him throw his head back with a gasp.

Jeong Jeong's burning mouth left a trail of heat across his chest, and Piandao arched up, rocking into the urgent grasp of his hand. He had long considered lovemaking as sophisticated an art as the brush or the sword, but in this moment, he found himself surrendering to the reckless enthusiasm exampled by his most recent pupil. He let his hands roam greedily, eager and artless, and his blood rushed hot inside him as Jeong Jeong passed on his fever.

He would have offered himself up, hungry and yielding, if he thought either of them had the patience to do it right, but as it stood, he could do no more than take Jeong Jeong in hand and stroke him in turn, handling him roughly until he groaned and then twining their hands until they were stroking each other together, rubbing off against each other, grip tight and palms sweating.

Jeong Jeong wound up tensely with every stroke. His jaw clenched and his shoulders hunched, and Piandao kissed every part of him that he could reach, urging him to let go, confident that something inside the man was firmly leashed enough to keep all that fire where it belonged. It had been many years since he'd been forced to stay quiet by necessity, but his body remembered it instinctively in the presence of another soldier, and his throat tightened, his appreciative words barely formed on his lips.

They might not have spoken, but in between the pop of fireworks, their mingled breathing grew heavy in the confines of the tent, and their bodies rubbed together, and wet mouths smacked against naked skin. He could feel it when Jeong Jeong broke. A breath hitched, stuttering against his shoulder, and Jeong Jeong pushed against him urgently, shivering so hard that Piandao trembled in sympathy. The bare skin beneath his hands was suddenly slick with cool sweat as the fever broke, and he felt the subtle pulse along his sex and the hot, wet spending against his fingers.

"Oh..." Jeong Jeong breathed out softly, shivering again, racked with pleasure. His tremors slowly faded, and then he was nudging up with a nearly silent moan to press his cooling brow against Piandao's.

Piandao kissed him, tasting the salt of his sweat, looking up into heavy-lidded golden eyes. His fingers curled around Jeong Jeong's neck, feeling the still-rapid beat of his pulse. His own body throbbed, blood coursing to the same rhythm.

"Sh-sh-sh," Jeong Jeong whispered against his lips, drawing back. Then his mouth, no longer burning but still deliciously hot, moved down with utmost generosity.

"Ah!" He couldn't quite keep back the sound. His eyes shut in pleasure as he was stroked and sucked, and he reached down, caressing Jeong Jeong's shoulder gratefully. His fingertips trailed along a bobbing throat, and then he cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the ridge of a scar. A long wave of pleasure rolled slowly through him, and he came, his back arching and his hips pressing up to the sound of a faint, satisfied hum and a wet swallow.

When he opened his eyes again, Jeong Jeong was gazing up at him with what could only be smugness, his gaze narrowed and his mouth still full. Piandao grinned breathlessly, feeling loose and limp, as if he could sleep for a hundred years.

Jeong Jeong let him slip and looked as if he meant to sit up, but Piandao squeezed his arm, and after a moment, the man lay down beside him, head at his hip. They were silent for a long while, and then Piandao, after a yawn, found his voice.

"I have a home in Shu Jing," he said. The restlessness had bled from him, leaving him warm and still, but he could not resist tracing the outline of Jeong Jeong's ear.

"Hn." Jeong Jeong's breathing was deepening, poised on the edge of sleep.

"You ought to come with me, if you're going that way. It's as good a place as any to wait out your pardon."

Jeong Jeong twisted, opening one eye and squinting up at him.

Piandao folded an arm behind his head, smiling. "I can promise you'll enjoy my hospitality."

In the scheme of things, it was a small triumph; however, the warm laugh he earned in response was undoubtedly his second greatest victory of the day. Having spoken his piece, he was quiet once more, and it was not long before he dozed off with Jeong Jeong's cheek pillowed on his hand. He stirred when Iroh looked in on them in the middle of the night, and he retained only the vague memory of a startled expression, a hoisted travelling bag, and then an annoyingly encouraging hand motion before he fell deep into sleep again. Below him, the world continued to spin, and above him, the stars burned on, and sometime before the dawn, the war slipped away from today into yesterday, and for the moment, all was well.


End file.
